"The Leader"
Who was the leader?
Who is the leader?
Who will be the leader?
The politician,the captain,the topper
No,no
The lead,the leader...
...
...
(The first ever poem "The Leader" was composed in 1997 and recited in the school assembly for around 4-5 minutes,though the remaining lines have not been recorded fully.)
( The other early poems include "The Challenger" ,"The Life" etc. and a couple of other short poems which were all recited in the school assembly in 1997 but their records don't exist.) |
"The Broken World"
When the sun rises
From the east, in the early morning
Riving from the moon, the King of night
Blazing the golden charming light
Vivifying the beauty of Nature
Fascinating the minds of man
Who was born and died on this mother earth
After a long,
If the eyes were opened.
Apprising by the chirping sound of birds
To rouse them from sleep
When a song is meliced and we started dancing
Beautifying the others
Then,
Envour conquer them
Trying to subdue us
To make a shadow
On this bonny place.
But, omni are not out-Herod
So, they are in ticklish.
Sprinting up towards the sky
For playing the whole world,
The cohord and disarm.
Everyday a tiff is there
Like a virago with tatics idea
Resenting one another
For the throne of all.
As the hostibility more
Resorting the life
Listening to the dirge
Waiting for the last breath
And,
Scattering of black smoke
The place in disarray
Make all a dead man.
Although some are free
From the darkness
Through the fissure.
The soil in clutter
Trampling against the mother earth
Bringing down her dint
But the only copula is She
And her dove
That can give placate
And mend this Broken World.
|
* "The Broken World" was composed in 1998 when the poet was in seventh class.
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"Evening Rain"
As the sky fills with darkness
And wind blows with droplets.
It rains cats and dogs.
Shines my window with sparkling diamonds
On its glass, I peer on.
Then, open my mind of my childhood's almamater
When tiny kids of our old blooming flowers
Bade for a day to our peers
From the carriage inside, in rain.
To home, by the way our land's melody used to sing
Drowning into the sea of music
Forgetting stoppage for me
That childlike joy today makes me
To recall the history of mine,
In that dusk, in the mid of rain and drizzle.
Still,in my heart's inner core
Are those prayers,gong's sound and father's counsel.
Being overwhelmed by those moments,
I become envious.
Floating with those lifes,
My mind suddenly wakes up
Then,
My heart cries as
Waves and tides waits for none.
Opening my mind
And myself find
In a new garden of Knowledge,
Where like the German troops, the tottlers follow
Where like Hitler, the master tains them
Inventing a modern Spartan Kingdom.
Staring at new branches of the old tree
Hoping to bond with the other ones
Growing in the garden
Coming from the old ones.
Becoming myself mad,
I ask the Emperor of Life
To replay that stage of mine
But get defeat in the battle.
Coming from the field,
After the fight with theocracists
On my window, find those diamonds
Becoming smaller and smaller
And,
I realise that Evening Rain
Has already away from my dorm.
|
* "Evening Rain" was composed in 2000 when the poet was in ninth class.
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" My first angel"
In the mid of night,
suddenly,
I remember the face of my first angel.
Tears roll down from my eyes,
thinking of those moments
which are still remembered
by me, mostly.
Unknown smile captures my face,
I look up at the cross
and
convince myself.
gone is gone.
Again as usual,
asking myself,
"Can I still wait for you?, O! angel."
But,
how long?
Impatiently,I was brought up
emotionally,I was played upon.
It has been a long time
since I left my mother's womb,
It has been a long time
since I left my almameter,
just as I was so weak
to stand alone without your eyes.
Gone were those days
I walked with you,in your garden.
gone were those moments
I sat with you in the moonlight.
gone were those silent breakers
I created for you.
I don't wish to remember
my past.
Let my past be dead,
but,
" Can I kill my first angel?"
or,
" Can I let my first angel be killed?"
Never,never.
Oh! God of Strength,
where are you?
Am I a descendant of God of Weakness?
Again,
I look up at the cross.
My sobbing gets stopped
as I get convinced
since I believe in Him.
I ask Him,
"Why shouldn't I forget the angel?"
Where she is ?
Where I am ?
The princess of her destiny,she is.
The slave of my destiny, I am.
What a difference! ,its a lovely one.
I realise I am in the worldly world.
Thus exists the world,my mind tells
There exists the eternity,my heart tells
I fail to choose my real master,
I am really a failure,
I am really a slave.
Oh! Almighty,if Heaven exists,
Could you hear me?
Could you see me ?
Could you remember me?
Could you help me?
Have you forgotten my faith in you?
The throne of my destiny, I beg from you
The throne of her destiny,I pray for my angel.
No courage, I have
to meet my first angel
But,
as long as my pen lives
and my midnight lamp burns,
In the mid of every night,
always,
I remember the face of my first angel.
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"My first angel" was composed suddenly in the midnight of 6th July ,2008.
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"My little Valentine"
Many autumns , I have lived;
those falling leaves , I have seen.
Many nights , I have passed;
with rolling tears , I have slept.
Many deserts , I have walked;
with thirsty mouth , I have gone.
Many oceans , I have crossed;
with unseen island , I have sailed.
Many days , I have pledged;
with weak destiny , I have compromised.
Many humans , I have met;
for little care , I have left.
Many dreams , I have thought;
for undiscovered reality , I have shattered.
Many moments , I have felt;
with foolish emotions , I have cried.
Many a times , I have tried;
but all the time , I have failed to undo my tears
shed on my own shadow in moonlight.
For me , King Bruce may die.
Strangely ,
a voice whispers heartily ,
I realise memorably ,
I ink
and
console my heart
to welcome the dawn of my life.
From the Mediterranean sea , my breeze comes;
through the window , my sunlight falls;
to quench the thirst , my rain drops;
to reach the end , my shore exists;
to accomplish the promises , my star shines;
to fill the gap , my soul arrives;
to discover the path ,my Shepherd leads;
to feel the life , my heart empowers
and
to conquer the world , my success knocks at the door of my hut.
The Pharoah of Egypt , I am not
The Prince of Rome , I am not
Neither as strong as Spartan I am nor am I as learned as Athenian.
So small , I have become like a beggar in front of the Buckingham Palace;
So graceful , you are like a princess of the pure royal blood;
So elegantly beautiful , so preciously sweet
the Cleopatra of my life , you are
the north star of my voyage , you are.
Alas ,
No gift , I can give other than my long cherised tears of joy,
that you , my soul only have brought;
No gift , I can give as long as my begging bowl is with me.
As beggar has no choice,
no choice , I have in front of the princess;
As the royal beauty never dies,
and always ,
I desire to be with my true angel;
O ! Father in Heaven ,
May my little Valentine remain immortal
as long as this Universe lives
May my true angel remain holy
as long as that Heaven lives.
"My little valentine" - As the midnight clock strikes, the first ever poem written with joy was started at 11:45 pm (IST) and ended at 2:05 am (IST) 13th Feb. 2009 on a Friday. This poem was webcasted on April 16, 2008.
"Make me blind"
She who is beautiful doesn't glitter,
she who glitters is not beautiful,
gracefully like a queen,she walks;
elegantly like a princess,she smiles.
To me,the key to all my joy,she carries;
To me,the path to all my success,she knows;
To me,the pain to all my failure,she understands;
To me,the meaning to my life,she writes.
Awaken by the chirping sound of birds,
raised by the promising ray of sun,
my eyes open,my feet touch the earth;
realities are far away from dreams,I sense;
truths are far away from myths,I realise.
But ,
silently,I trust her
as I know
my heart does no wrong
as long as it remains
pure for her only.
When I see her,I smile;
to me,she smiles back
but,
a mere facial smile by raising cheeks,
is what I dislike from her;
the true meaningful smile by blinking eyes,
is what I expect from her;
because,
to me,
eyes,not face are the one's everything.
Like a small child becoming possessive about mother's warmth,
a small child,I have become on her graceful beauty;
an apple of my eyes,she has become;
making me difficult to close my eyes
until she comes in my dream in every midnight.
In my heart,she is felt;
in my mind,she is seen;
in my soul,she is discovered;
in all senses of mine,she stays;
closer than my own shadow,she moves along with me;
what differs me from her is only
she is she and I am he,
the rest of ours meets in the mid of one man's bridge;
my moving mirror,she has become;
her eternal reflection,I wish to become.
Dreaming remains my passion,
thinking remains my creation,
writing remains my compulsion
as
silence becomes my service,
creating a wall between she and I.
After death,the ugly meets the beauty;
in life,the handsome meets the beauty;
forgetting
anybody can be ugly
anybody can be handsome
anybody can be beautiful
atleast once in this life
but,
nobody can be so graceful like the very one.
As the journey lengthens longer,
I wish not to move quicker in dust;
as the clock ticks faster,
I wish not to fly swifter in air
because,
in steadily slow,beauty lies.
Languages are my enemy,
symbols are my friend;
time has made me dumb
as I know not the language to be spoken.
To go closer,I must speak;
to understand deeper,I must listen
but all in vain,
by deaf and dumb,
I am embraced.
The only eyes,I have
have no choice
but,
from a distance,
to look at her only
in the world
where no voice and no word exist for me;
to look at her beauty only
in the world
where the handsome only lives;
to look at her moving lips only
in the world
where those who speak her language;
to look at her eyes only
in the world
where from,my sight has got meanings.
In her eyes,I see my eyes
but,
as I know no language to speak
as I know no word to write,
my strength fades away
like a shadow in a cloudy day.
I feel,
in my eyes,she sees not her eyes.
I pray,
in the eyes of the poor,
in the eyes of the ugly,
in the eyes of the deaf,
in the eyes of the dumb,
she finds her eyes.
If not,
then humbly,I submit
to take away my sight.
No more,I wish to see
as
the timely worn beauty,I hate to see;
the naturally naked beauty,I love to see.
Meanings are what,my poor eyes search for;
darkness is what,my eyes have found;
hollowness is what,my heart has discovered;
vaccum is what,my soul has been filled;
I wish not to see anymore
I wish not to open my eyes
I wish to close them
and close them forever
to make me blind.
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- Composed by Bupenda on 1st August,2009 (5:30pm - 9pm,IST),Saturday and completed on 2nd August,2009 (10pm -11:55pm,IST),Delhi and slept at 1am(IST),3rd August,2009.
